Classic Poem

Now in the Month of May,
How chearful is the Spring?
All Nature's coming into Life,
Hark! hear the Black Bird sing.—
The Lark will soon mount up,
And make the Wood, to ring;
Sweet Philomel upon the Thorn,
At Eve is heard to sing;
And may we not our Youth compare
Unto the chearful Spring?
Before keen Trouble wounds the breast,
How do we laugh and sing!
As we advance along in Life,
Time will its Trouble bring.
A Thorn springs up in every Path,
Untunes the Heart to sing:
But, Oh! the Gospel's pleasant Sweets
Are like unto the Spring.
The Jewish wintr'y State is o'er,
Good News did Angels bring:
Stop, here my Muse, and ask my Soul,
Hast thou enjoy'd a Spring?
Is the cold Frost of Winter o'er,
Has Grace taught thee to sing?
I hope the Frost of Winter's o'er,
But Thorns in Summer Spring;—
When Godly Sorrow wounds the Heart,
Thro' Grace alone we sing.